


the spirit of things

by syrupwit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A bit of dissociation, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dubious Consent, M/M, Ritual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit
Summary: “You could pretend to enjoy this less.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: Jump Scare 2020





	the spirit of things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CousinShelley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinShelley/gifts).



Martin said, “You could pretend to enjoy this less.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” said Peter heartily, stroking Martin’s thighs with broad, rough hands. Though his smile was vacant as ever, his eyes roved over Martin’s body with an eagerness that made Martin want to close his legs, get dressed, and announce that he was forfeiting the world to the Extinction. Humanity had had a decent go of it, but some trials were too much to bear.

The stupid ritual probably wouldn’t even work. And really, a sex thing? For the Lonely? It made no sense. 

Martin felt it, though. The fear hovered around them, hazy, a sheen on the Eye's cornea. It should have made him sick.

Peter pressed an unnecessary kiss to Martin’s upper thigh, then his stomach. Martin had always been self-conscious there, and he felt no less so now. Regardless, his cock was filling rapidly, bumping Peter’s cheek. He felt himself redden.

Peter turned and _nuzzled_ him, openmouthed. Martin’s hips jumped.

Peter sat back and inspected Martin’s groin, beaming. “Glad to see you’re getting into the spirit of things.”

Martin gritted his teeth, kept silent.

Few people made Martin feel physically small. Peter was one of them. Even on his knees, with Martin’s cock in his mouth, he made Martin feel small. His attention, while enthusiastic, was impersonal in every way. They could have been any two people performing the motions of sex. Though this hurt and disgusted Martin, it also aroused him, and that made it even worse.

He told himself it was the best he could get, that it was liberating. He didn’t have to worry about pleasing Peter, or anticipating Peter’s feelings, or keeping his hips still so Peter didn’t gag. The only thing he had to worry about was coming.

He was well on the way there, except Peter pulled off.

“What?” Martin didn’t bother hiding his irritation.

“For this to work, you need to be looking at me.” Peter’s tone was amused.

Martin hadn’t noticed closing his eyes. When he blinked them open, he felt tears at the corners. How ridiculous. Peter gazed up at him between too-pale splayed thighs, genial and unruffled. He was still fully clothed, and Martin hated it. 

“Can you at least take off your jacket or something?”

“Why?” Peter seemed honestly curious.

“Never mind.”

“If it would make you more comfortable, Martin—”

“Since when have you cared about my comfort?” Martin couldn’t stop his voice from going up at the end, high and harsh and bitter.

“No need to be rude,” Peter reproached. “I’m trying to make this easy for you. There are a lot less pleasant methods that could achieve the same effect.”

Martin bit back his anger. He didn’t want to bleed, and he certainly didn’t want to hurt someone innocent. “Okay. Take off your jacket. Um, please.”

“Was that so hard?” said Peter, chuckling, and obeyed. 

This time he moved more slowly, kissing his way from Martin’s knee to the crease of his thigh until Martin was fully hard and panting for it. Martin did as he’d been told and watched while Peter swallowed him down. Peter’s head bobbed, his beard abrading Martin’s thighs. Martin clutched at him and made himself endure.

He told himself that this was good, that he was getting closer to the truth—to that misery, that essential horror, that hollowed his chest and churned his gut at the same time it promised to free him.

When Martin came, he felt cold. It lasted only a moment, but after his eyes refocused, mist was dissipating through the air. There was an ache behind his eyes like he’d been crying. Peter smiled and licked his lips.

Peter rose. Martin let him crowd him down and press him back onto the bed where he’d been sitting. He felt distant, emptied out. Peter was heavy, and his erection was hot against Martin’s leg, but Martin felt freezing cold.

“How long is this going to take?” he asked, unable to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Oh, not long at all. You’re doing very well.”

Martin grimaced—half gratified by the praise, half annoyed that he was gratified—and felt Peter laugh into his neck, very softly, like he didn’t think Martin would notice.

It felt like ice water pouring around him, or maybe like he was the ice, solid until he suddenly wasn’t. Numbness seeped through Martin’s nerves. Lethargy weighted his limbs. He hardly realized that Peter was fingering him, though his body responded, unsatisfied despite his recent orgasm. When Peter’s cock breached him, it felt like nothing.

Someone else was being fucked. Someone else was making that ugly, needy noise, twisting their hips and shoving themselves forward, begging to be touched by a bloodless, bodiless thing that couldn’t touch them back even if it wanted to. Someone else was coming, clenching hard around Peter’s cock, seizing oblivion for one too-short instant that only accentuated their despair. 

Martin didn’t notice Peter come, but he must have, because he was slumped on top of Martin and seemed disinclined to move. Eventually he pulled out and casually extracted himself from Martin’s arms. He tried to kiss him, but Martin turned his head to the side.

“Is it done?” Martin asked, letting Peter kiss and suck his neck instead. Peter was being horribly nice about it. Martin wished he’d bite him, just for the anchor of pain, but he supposed that went against the point. 

“The first time, yes,” said Peter, scratchy. “We’ll have to do it again soon.”

“How many times?”

“It depends, Martin. We’ll see.” Peter nipped under Martin's ear, too gentle, and rolled off him to retrieve his discarded jacket and belt. He hadn't even taken his shirt off.

Though the mist had gone, a fading chill hung in the air. Martin’s body was still cold, but he felt it fill with pins and needles. He closed his eyes, taking refuge in the last moments of apathy before shame and regret set in.


End file.
